


Shaak Herding for the Troubled and Lonely

by protos_metazu_ison (larkspyt)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Big Bang Challenge, Drama & Romance, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkspyt/pseuds/protos_metazu_ison
Summary: Disgraced Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was content to live out the rest of his life as a hermit, herding shaak, until the Prime Minister of Stewjon appeared at his door, begging him to attend the Skywalker clan's annual party of Force-users.While reluctant to re-enter society, Obi-Wan agreed to go. After all, he's always wondered what Anakin Skywalker, the most powerful Force-user in the galaxy, was like.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My gratitude and love always for *Liz* who assured me that this story is any good at all and poefinn, who's been paired up with me for the Big Bang as my artist. Poefinn has endured a lot of nervous chatter from me as well. I'll be trying to embed her art into the fic as soon as I get it and I learn how, haha.
> 
> ETA: I got way too excited when I managed to embed Poefinn's poster. SUCCESS!

(Image credit: [poefinn](http://threepio.co.vu))

If it had been his older brother Owen, Obi-Wan would have no trouble turning him away. Instead, it was Irella’s sweet brown eyes waiting on the other side of his door, despite the rain, despite their 25 years of estrangement. At her shoulder was her husband, the prime minister of Stewjon, but that could not be helped so Obi-Wan let both of them in. 

Obi-Wan had known something of this sort would happen after Owen had spotted him last week in the nearby village where he bought his supplies. For more than two decades Obi-Wan had avoided his family and the people he knew on Stewjon and now both descended upon him unannounced, no doubt to inconvenience him.

For his sister Irella at least, Obi-Wan had enough love for an embrace. She accepted it timidly. He could barely feel the touch of her soft hands across his shoulders. 

“An invitation has arrived for you, Master Kenobi,” said the prime minister. 

Obi-Wan ignored him in favour of putting the kettle on the stove. “I’ve got some tea. Would you like it?” Irella bowed her brown head. 

The prime minister cleared his throat. He was too tall for Obi-Wan’s small self-made hut. Already, he had to hunch to accommodate the ceiling so he looked subservient as he extended the card to Obi-Wan. “It’s from the Skywalker clan. They would like you to attend their annual party.”

“The Skywalkers and I have never met. I don’t see why they would want me at their party unless _you_ solicited their invitation on my behalf.” 

Behind him, the prime minister spluttered, insisted he hadn’t. 

Obi-Wan put a cup of tea on the table before Irella, closed her rain-chilled fingers around the porcelain. “Have I not done enough for Stewjon? Do you not have the trade routes you have now and a place in the United Merchants Alliance thanks to my name?”

“Once it was enough, but no one has seen hide nor hair of you in years. Stewjon’s economy is not what it once was and, I admit, the fault lies in some small part on me.” The prime minister stumbled over his words when Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I should not have borrowed so heavily from Corellia. But the point is, the Trade Federation is thinking of rerouting their trade routes around Stewjon and the system cannot afford that.”

“And what do you expect me to do about that?”

“The head of the Trade Federation is rumoured to be attending the Skywalker party this year. If you could impress yourself upon Nute Gunray, remind him that the Force still looks kindly upon a son of Stewjon, he might reconsider his position on our system.”

“Isn’t it time you find another ‘son of Stewjon’ to squeeze from?” Obi-Wan sneered. 

The prime minister surprised Obi-Wan with his temper, shaking his fist, cursing, “You know if we had another Force-user here we wouldn’t come to you!” A stony silence followed his outburst, gently permeated by the chirping of the crickets beyond the window, the soft bleats of the shaak resting in the stable across the green plain.

“And you, Irella? No words for your brother?” Obi-Wan said after a while. 

She sipped her tea, refusing to look at him. 

Obi-Wan stood up and went to the window. The sky was pitch black tonight. Not even a sliver of moonlight to break up the darkness. He should offer his guests shelter for the night. He took the card and opened it. “I will need transport to Naboo.”

“Of course,” said the prime minister. “At once.”

“No. I will have to arrange for someone to look after my shaak when I am away.”

“Tomorrow evening,” the prime minister confirmed with a nod of his head. 

A carriage speeder was parked outside Obi-Wan’s hut; sleek, new and expensive. In his bitterness, Obi-Wan could not help but wonder if Stewjon’s meagre wealth had gone into shiny toys for his family in the capital city. As the speeder pulled away, Irella shifted to look at him through the carriage window. He raised his hand and waved at her but she did not return it.

Obi-Wan was not strong enough in the Force to be able to sense someone’s feelings. He knew Irella’s reaction towards him was more likely guilt about how distant they’d grown, but it felt so much like coldness. 

 

x

 

If there had ever been a Force clan with a rise as meteoric as that of the Skywalker’s, none could remember it. 

Anakin Skywalker, the only being to have ever been conceived by the Force itself, had not stated an intention to found his own clan when he parted ways with the Sina Kai clan to marry Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo. However, the outcome was more or less assured when Senator Amidala gave birth to a pair of twins, who showed every bit of mystical promise as their father.

Senators moved quickly to pledge their friendship to Senator Amidala. More businesses looked into buying property and investments in Naboo. The heads of all the prominent clans attended Luke and Leia Skywalker’s full moon party. 

Anakin Skywalker was the most powerful Force-user in the galaxy. No one could afford to ignore him. 

In truth, Anakin’s attachment to Senator Amidala was a blessing. It prevented the political backstabbing and in-fighting within the clans that would have fought for his favour. As it was, Anakin aligned his support closely with his wife’s pacifistic propositions on the Senate floor despite his history of favouring militaristic action. 

The talk of the ton was that Skywalker had been tamed by the senator of Naboo. It was something they all tried to confirm every time they attended the annual Skywalker gathering of Force-users. 

The party gathered the most powerful and influential in the galaxy who attended so they could see one another and be seen. Alliances were forged in the Skywalker-Naberrie Varykino lake house in Naboo. Previous partnerships were renegotiated. And some of the more ambitious politicians had yet to give up on persuading Skywalker to support their party instead of Senator Amidala’s.

Of course, the official invitation mentioned none of that. It talked about celebrating the ‘old religion’. Politics was secondary. It was supposed to be. 

 

x

 

Obi-Wan thanked the pilot, climbed down the gangway of his ship and immediately wished he could retreat into the safety of the cockpit and fly all the way back to Osten. 

The courtyard of the Varykino lake house was overrun with presidents and senators greeting as soon as they alighted their vehicles. Force-users were milling about in groups but only within their own clans and factions. There was a great yell of excitement to Obi-Wan’s left, as the lower landing was cleared so the sparring competition could begin early this year. 

Obi-Wan hid his hands in the voluminous sleeves of his robe and proceeded into the reception hall, but it was worse inside. 

The high-ceilinged hall echoed with chatter, laughter, exclamations made over flutes of champagne that server droids struggled to refill as quickly as they were emptied. Competing Force clans exchanged terse remarks over the spread of finger food as the children of senators ran underfoot. Obi-Wan pressed his back against the wall, sidestepping a little girl with long brown braids trailing behind her as she ran from the outstretched arms of her Togruta minder, and he shuffled towards the nearest open space. 

It had been _years_ since he had spent an extended amount of time with more than two people in an enclosed space. The reception hall was to him a sort of hell. The close heat of bodies and their invasive voices wrapped him with such dread that he ran to the terrace, balanced his heaving torso over the banister.

More guests littered the stairs leading down from the terrace into the hedge garden. Most of them were Force-users in neatly-trimmed coats that proclaimed their clan colours. There was the burgundy and silver-gold of the Cycl Merchants; the deep green and periwinkle of the Sina Kai; and a scattering of other colours from smaller clans. 

Obi-Wan’s own robe was somewhere between brown and grey, a nowhere colour earned from years of fishing wayward shaak from muddy ponds; from patching and re-patching the robe. The robe proclaimed that Obi-Wan belonged to no clan, represented no one. 

As the night drew on, it became clear that this was a huge disadvantage. He made attempt after attempt at introducing himself to politicians or Cycl Merchant members who could help him make his case to Nute Gunray, but they would take one look at his robe and brush him aside. Other times, he would sense whispers of his name being passed around and would have to duck into a corner out of fear of being recognised. He felt as if he were playing a game, in which he was both pawn and target, and immensely frustrated at having been forced into both roles. So that when he finally did run into Nute Gunray himself, Obi-Wan was feeling rather surly and perhaps was not as charming as he could have been. 

“Lord Gunray,” he began, “I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”

The Neimodian had been walking the length of the hedge garden with a gaggle of sycophants, showing off his new formal robes with glittering black jewels sewn down the entire front panel. As head of the Trade Federation, Nute Gunray was arguably the richest man in the galaxy and liked reminding people of it. 

He smiled at Obi-Wan’s interruption. Though it was a genuine smile, Obi-Wan found it rather unpleasant. 

“Ah yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I heard you might be here tonight. How can I help you?”

“I’d like to discuss your business interests on Stewjon.”

“I have no business interests on Stewjon.”

“I was wondering if you might reconsider that.” 

The sycophants by Nute Gunray’s side, some of whom were Cycl Merchant members, goggled at Obi-Wan’s brazenness. For some disbelief quickly transformed into snickers.

Nute Gunray tilted his head to the side. “You hear that, Mister Kenobi? Your name meant something once. The promising new star of the Sina Kai clan. The trusted advisor of the Duchess of Mandalore. But what have you done lately? How have you contributed? No one here is fool enough to make a deal with you because you have nothing to offer.”

None of this was a revelation to Obi-Wan. Still, it was disheartening to hear it confirmed by somebody else; how completely shunned he was from the community he had grown up in. 

“Can I do anything else for you, Mister Kenobi?” said Nute Gunray. 

“No, thank you, that will be all.” 

Obi-Wan needed to inform the prime minister of his failure as soon as possible so the government of Stewjon could think of other provisions for their failing economy. He stepped aside to let Nute Gunray and his party pass, just as a familiar little girl with brown braids burst out of a nearby hedge and ran straight into Obi-Wan’s legs. 

“Grab her!”

Obi-Wan picked up the little girl and then found himself being attacked by tiny flailing arms. 

“Leia, stop hitting the nice man!” said the girl’s Togruta minder, who came through the foliage and thankfully relieved Obi-Wan of the little girl. “Thanks. I’ve been chasing her for the better part of the night. Every time I put her down, Luke makes a fuss and then I turn my back for one second and she’s gone.” The little girl, Leia, affected a sheepish look to which the Togruta shook her head affectionately. “You’re a tiny devil. I’m Ahsoka, by the way. Ahsoka Tano. I’m with the Skywalkers.” The Togruta wore no clan colours. Perhaps the Skywalker clan had not established them yet. “What about you?”

“I’m not with anyone, I’m afraid. But I’m not gatecrashing.” At Ahsoka’s look of suspicion, Obi-Wan took out his invitation with his name printed clearly across the middle. She plucked it from his hand, frowned hard at it. She read his name aloud, testing the syllables in her mouth. Then she gave him a hard stare and said, “Wait here. Don’t go anywhere,” and dashed away with the little girl squealing and waving goodbye at Obi-Wan over the Togruta’s shoulder. 

Bewildered, Obi-Wan did as he was told but after twenty minutes and he was still alone, he could not help but feel as if he had been made a fool of again, so he left to find a private corner where he could disappoint his home planet. 

 

x

 

The holo-conversation with the prime minister of Stewjon had gone south quickly. 

Obi-Wan had always thought the prime minister to be someone with a weak spine; the kind of public figure who earned his position by marrying a Kenobi rather than any personal accomplishment. But the prime minister knew how to use people.

Irella had stood at the back of the holo-call, listening listlessly to her husband and estranged older brother argue until the prime minister had prompted her forward by sweeping his hand at her belly. “ _You_ have _to try harder. For the sake of our baby._ ”

Obi-Wan had been laughed at the entire night, but for the first time, actual fury had bubbled up his throat. He’d readied his tongue for some cutting remarks that would teach the prime minister a lesson on daring to manipulate _him_ , for using his sister to do so. But Obi-Wan had managed to collect himself. He’d found the niggling fingers of the Force petting the back of his mind and gave up his anger to them so that when he spoke, it was with a steely calm. 

“I will get you your deal. But after this, I don’t want to hear from you ever again. _Either_ of you.” Obi-Wan had ended the call, in the middle of the prime minister’s protest, and pretending he had not seen the stricken look on Irella’s face. 

 

x

 

Upon exiting the ‘fresher where he had conducted the call, Obi-Wan snatched a glass off the first server droid that passed his way and downed its contents. He has not had a drink in years and the bubbles fizzled pleasantly in his stomach and took his mind away a bit from the difficulty of his current situation. He was not at all certain how he could persuade Nute Gunray to reconsider him after having been turned down so completely only half an hour ago. After all, Nute Gunray was right: he had nothing to trade with. 

He wandered out into the courtyard, hoping for some bit of good luck when he saw that the sparring competition had moved from the lower landing and was down to its final contestants. 

The previous contenders were gathered along the sidelines of the chalk-demarcated ring, rubbing injured shoulders and nursing bruised egos. Lightsabers were never used at friendly competitions like these. Nevertheless, it could get quite dangerous as everyone here aimed to impress. 

Saber mastery was widely believed to be another form of favour from the Force. It was why the Sina Kai, the warrior clan, was one of the most influential in all the systems. 

A multitudinous roar rose when the last contestant, a Mon Calamari, knocked her opponent out of the ring and secured her victory. The Mon Calamari raised her wooden saber above her head to louder cheers. She waved, smiling tremulously. 

“Why does she look so nervous? Didn’t she just win?” asked Obi-Wan. 

The woman standing next to Obi-Wan with her elbows on the banister smiled. “This is your first year here, isn’t it? Winners of the sparring contest always go up against Anakin as the final round. No one’s managed to defeat him yet.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “That hardly seems like a fair fight. One is tired from fighting who knows how many previous combatants and the other is as fresh as a starflower.”

The woman laughed. “Why don’t you tell that to Anakin?”

A tall man stepped into the ring and Obi-Wan stopped breathing as lust struck him, thunderbolt straight down his gut.

Anakin Skywalker was a vision. Brown hair and stormy blue eyes like a figure right out of Gorof’s paintings. And between those eyes, a strong straight nose that led down to lips designed to evoke the boldest of fantasies. Sensuous kisses. Gasps of pleasure. He stood at least a head taller than Obi-Wan, and this advantage in height afforded him the visage of a looming god, awaiting supplication. 

Obi-Wan swallowed, held his breath. It has been so long since he has felt desire for someone that he did not know what to do with it. 

Then the woman next to Obi-Wan cupped her mouth with both hands and yelled, “Ani! This man here says you’re not fighting fair!”

Those blue eyes, as electric as the blue of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, locked onto him. That smile was sharp and dark. A brow sliced by a scar lifted in cocky enquiry. “Oh really? Bold words for one who didn’t participate.”

The audience had fallen silent, their attention zeroed in upon Skywalker and Obi-Wan. And if Obi-Wan didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn the woman beside him was enjoying all this. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Sparring contests are a young person’s game.”

“By my stars…Obi-Wan Kenobi?” The male Kel Dor was sitting at the edge of the ring, dressed in green and periwinkle with ridged leather epaulets to designate his position. He stood up now, crossed the length of the courtyard before the silent audience and clasped Obi-Wan’s shoulders with both hands. “It’s been too long.”

“Master Plo,” Obi-Wan said with surprised delight. He would have known Plo Koon’s deep baritone anywhere. It had been one of the few voices who had spoken up on his behalf when he had been expelled from the Sina Kai. 

“You disappeared on me, my friend. After that terrible event on Mandalore, no one has seen or heard of you. And considering the extensive reach of our clan, that is most impressive.”

“ _Your_ clan.”

Plo Koon’s shoulders dipped. “Yes.”

It was rare for Force clans to banish any of their members; the punishment reserved for those who committed serious crimes against sentients. Even Ithan Puto the Smuggler still had a clan. And Sirca the Pimp. And yet, Obi-Wan had been expelled on the trumped-up charges of attempting to seduce the clan leader’s daughter. Which was how Obi-Wan was saddled with that unfortunate nickname. 

“Hey, it’s Kenobi the Seducer!”

“That’s him? The guy who got kicked out for trying to get with Siri?”

“He doesn’t look like a seducer.”

“That’s because he’s old now.”

Oh _kark_. 

It took all of Obi-Wan’s self-restraint not to cover his face.

At last, Plo Koon brought some semblance of order by ordering the Sina Kai members into silence. Obi-Wan would thank him, had he not added, “Obi-Wan was once a respected Master within our ranks. I think he would make a most worthy sparring partner for you, young Skywalker.”

But gone was Skywalker’s open curiosity towards the man who had dared challenge him. He stared at Obi-Wan now as if he had smelled something foul. “Yes, I’ve heard of you. The only living Master of the third discipline.”

“Only because the third discipline is so boring,” said one Cycl Merchant who had been eliminated early from the competition. “It’s all defence. There aren’t any good offensive attacks in it.”

“That is because all the effective offences you require use the enemy’s strength against them,” said Obi-Wan. 

Skywalker gestured at the ring. “If you would care to demonstrate.”

“I think you’re forgetting that you owe the winner there a congratulatory spar.”

But the aforementioned winner of the sparring competition was already sitting by the side with a glass of water, not looking eager for an impossible fight after she had just won a difficult one. 

Parked on the terrace, Nute Gunray and his gaggle of sycophants were watching Obi-Wan with renewed interest. 

This was his chance, Obi-Wan realised. People like Nute Gunray appreciated these sort of flashy shows of strength. If Obi-Wan could prove himself here, the Neimodian might reconsider. 

“Very well then,” Obi-Wan said and made his way towards the ring. Plo Koon patted his shoulder encouragingly.

“Excellent. My husband loves a good fight,” said the woman. 

Obi-Wan snapped his head back at her. “Your _what_?” But it was too late. The crowd swallowed him and pushed him to the centre of the courtyard where Anakin Skywalker stood waiting. 

He was much more imposing up close, his Force presence more tangible. It tasted like fire and smelt so much like smoke that Obi-Wan coughed.

This certainly was not how Obi-Wan had expected to meet Anakin Skywalker. 

Even before Obi-Wan had gone into exile, Anakin Skywalker had been famous. He had won the Bespin Cloud Games at the tender age of 13, proving his considerable connection with the Force, which he had then used to leverage the Senate into taking action against the slave trade in Tatooine. Obi-Wan had been with the Sina Kai clan at the time and the Sina Kai had been full of people who would not shut up about Anakin Skywalker. Unfortunately, by the time Skywalker had joined their ranks, Obi-Wan himself had been expelled from the clan. Thus, Obi-Wan had missed their first chance at a meeting. 

Another chance had arisen when Obi-Wan had been under the employ of the Duchess Satine of Mandalore as her trusted advisor. He had been tasked to speak to the Sina Kai about a partnership. Anakin Skywalker had been 19 and the Sina Kai second-in-command. But before the talks could be conducted, Satine had been assassinated, and so went the second chance. 

How many years has it been since? Obi-Wan did not like to think about it. 

And here was chance number three. Would Obi-Wan have been this strongly attracted to Skywalker had they met earlier? He was already ashamed now at how much he wanted him despite Skywalker’s mysterious irritation towards him. 

“I had such expectations of you,” Skywalker spat. 

“What?” said Obi-Wan. 

“I specialise in the fifth discipline. It means you’re especially disadvantaged against me.”

“Cocky bastard, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. He jumped when Skywalker’s dark gaze snapped towards him. 

Skywalker handed him a practice wooden saber. Obi-Wan tested the weight and feel of it in his hands, brought it down in a basic kata. It felt too light. He took out his lightsaber for comparison when Skywalker said, “Oh you would prefer a proper fight?”

“Yes, actually,” Obi-Wan replied, ignoring the jeers from the audience. An actual lightsaber battle would be more likely to impress Nute Gunray than a fight with sticks. 

Skywalker’s lightsaber slapped loudly against his open, outstretched palm. He moved as if a current has been switched on under his skin. The smell of smoke intensified. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, activated his lightsaber, and assumed his stance. 

As soon as umpire-droid gave the starting beep, Skywalker came upon him with wave after wave of attack, so much so that his main strategy appeared to be bashing Obi-Wan to the floor. His aerial use of the Force was impressive. He could manipulate the Force to lift himself in order to press down for physical advantage. 

Were Obi-Wan a younger, more sprightly man, he would be able to parry Anakin’s attacks. But he wasn’t. He didn’t even have enough strength to force the momentum of Anakin’s strike to his advantage. So he evaded as many strikes as he could and deflected those he could not. Some of them came far too close for comfort, one strike if singing the tips of his hair. 

Off to the side, Obi-Wan heard a few mocking comments - “Come on, fight him already!” - and those rose steadily in volume and number even as perspiration beaded Skywalker’s forehead, as he realised that not only none of the hits were landing but that Obi-Wan was exhausting him on purpose.

In a burst of fury, Skywalker turned his next attack from a slash to jab straight towards Obi-Wan’s chest. 

The taste of ash exploded on Obi-Wan’s tongue. He brought down his lightsaber in time to fend off Anakin’s lightsaber and with a soft Force push, knocked Skywalker off balance and then off his feet. 

Anakin Skywalker looked up at him from his back, shock clear across his handsome features. For a while, Obi-Wan felt triumphant. He had done it. He had proven himself to everyone here and that must include Nute Gunray. 

The Neimodian and his gaggle stood frozen behind the balustrade, all of them staring open-mouthed at Obi-Wan with fear. It was then that Obi-Wan noticed that the rest of the courtyard had fallen still. 

The taste of ash had not gone from his mouth. That should have been his first clue. The next thing he knew, his throat was closing up. He dropped his lightsaber and scrabbled at his neck for air as he was lifted off the ground. 

He looked to the side and there was Anakin Skywalker standing with his arm outstretched. The stormy blue eyes of Gorof’s paintings were gone. In its stead, rings of red. 

“Ani!” cried the woman from the side. 

Panic rose up in the back of Obi-Wan’s head. The lack of oxygen made him light-headed, drowsy. Skywalker said something, but the words sounded muffled to Obi-Wan’s ears because he was choking. Annoyed, Obi-Wan mustered his focus and used the Force to throw his lightsaber hilt at Skywalker’s head. 

It hit Skywalker with a satisfying thunk, sending him to the ground again, and releasing Obi-Wan from the Force choke. Obi-Wan dropped to his knees, wheezing as air rushed back into his lungs. 

The minute he caught his breath, he rounded upon Skywalker. “What manner of child are you? Have the rules of a fair fight changed while I was away?” His face was red, half from anger, half from his recent oxygen deprivation. 

Skywalker sat up, clutching at his temple. His eyes were blue again. “You hit me in the head!”

“You strangled me. I think I have the high ground here,” Obi-Wan growled, his voice still hoarse from the assault on his throat. He pointed at his neck. “Listen to this. You’ve made me sound even older than I am. I should give you a sound thrashing or two but thankfully you’re not my problem.”

A burst of surprised laughter erupted from somewhere in the courtyard. Obi-Wan traced it back to the woman he had been speaking to earlier. 

“Padmé!” said Skywalker, indignant. 

Plo Koon shook his head, his cheeks raised in amusement. “I forgot what a short temper you can have when in a foul mood.”

Obi-Wan testily buckled the lightsaber to his belt and strode out of the courtyard. He was getting out of here as soon as he spoke with Nute Gunray. He did not think the party could have become more unbearable, but it only subverted his expectations and lost all sense. 

A notion which was reinforced when Nute Gunray refused to reconsider Obi-Wan’s proposition. 

“What do you mean? You saw me out there. You saw me win over Anakin Skywalker,” said Obi-Wan. 

“Exactly!” said Nute Gunray, bringing his hands down emphatically. “Do you think I’m fool enough to cooperate with anyone who’s on Skywalker’s bad side? You’re even more out of touch than I thought.”

 

x

 

He could tell the party was dying down by the diminishing chatter, the roars of personal vehicles taking off, the cleaning-droids going around vacuuming the mess left behind. 

Obi-Wan was in no hurry to leave now that he had failed his mission. All that awaited him now was an uncomfortable Holo-call with the prime minister, which would no doubt remind Obi-Wan why he had chosen to stay out of society so completely and for so long. 

He went down to the lake where Plo Koon found him skipping stones across the surface of the water. Obi-Wan hid his hands behind his back, ashamed at being caught in the middle of a child’s pastime. 

Plo Koon bent down, considered a few flat stones before deciding on one and made an impressive four skips with it. 

Obi-Wan whistled, impressed. 

Plo Koon chortled in acknowledgment. He has always been a Kel Dor of few words. Obi-Wan recalled how he could quell the children with a few words whenever they grew unruly in their martial lessons. 

“You have developed a new habit of disappearing,” said Plo Koon. “I find I do not like it much.”

“It’s not you I’m hiding from so don’t feel offended.” 

“Who _are_ you hiding from? The Mandalorians? They’ve found the perpetrator behind the duchess’s murder years ago.”

Obi-Wan was well aware of that. The news had reached in when he had first arrived at Osten, tearing open wounds that had not had enough time to heal.

“Or is it still because of Siri?” Plo Koon tried. “She is married now. With children. Whatever happened in the past can no longer hurt her reputation.”

“As it continues to hurt mine?” said Obi-Wan with a bitter smile. He sighed. “I am content in my hiding. My shaak keep me company and meditation has never been easier. It is a good life. I would not have come out of it were it not absolutely necessary.” He explained the prime minister’s plan, which Plo Koon quickly pointed out was no plan at all. 

“He’s simply relying on you to fix his mistakes!” Plo Koon said, outraged. 

“It is difficult to refuse him. He is my brother-in-law.”

Hesitantly, Plo Koon ventured, “Is it your family you hide from? I remember how you used to speak of them bitterly for giving you up to the clan at such a young age.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Please stop, old friend. I’ve had enough old grievances aired out for tonight. My heart cannot take it.”

Plo Koon nodded sombrely. “I’m sorry. Allow me to make amends. I believe you met young Ahsoka tonight.”

“The Togruta?”

“She is looking for a teacher to help her connect to the Force through meditation. I have put forward your name. I’m sure a week or two guiding Ahsoka will help convince Nute Gunray that you are in good terms with the Skywalker clan.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Can’t Skywalker teach Ahsoka himself?”

This startled a snort out of Plo Koon. “Anakin has never sat through a period of meditation successfully on his own. He is an exception in most things. He does not need a quiet state of mind to access the will of the Force.”

“I appreciate your help here but I don’t think Skywalker would want me teaching his disciple after the events tonight.”

“He’s already agreed. Well, Senator Amidala has,” Plo Koon amended. 

“I don’t know about this,” said Obi-Wan. He stroked his beard. “A week, you say?”

“Or two. A small price to pay to help your planet.”

And grudgingly, Obi-Wan agreed. He did not have much to return to. And Ahsoka had been nice enough when he’d met her. Two weeks of lessons in meditation. Obi-Wan could handle that.

He followed Plo Koon back to the villa, where he was reintroduced to Ahsoka who bounced in excitement. She led him to an empty bedroom, pushed a set of extra clothes into his arms, and told him he would meet Skywalker and Senator Amidala again in the morning. 

“Thanks for your help, Master Plo. I owe you one,” said Ahsoka, waving him goodbye.

“May the Force be with you, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan.” Plo Koon said it so solemnly that Obi-Wan wondered if there was something he had missed. But the Force was silent in the back of his mind, so he repeated the farewell back to Plo Koon. 

If he had meant to keep any old friends from Sina Kai, Plo Koon would have been one of them. He was trustworthy. He would not do wrong by Obi-Wan. 

With that reassurance, Obi-Wan turned in for the night, in a stranger’s room in a stranger’s lake house on a planet far, far away from home. 

 

x

 

The sun rose earlier in Naboo and Obi-Wan with it. He completed his morning ablutions and found himself a secluded corner in the secondary courtyard to practice his katas. The routine helped soothe his mind, gave him an anchor in this foreign place where everything - the architecture, the foliage, the manners - was tamed for a civilised audience. When after his morning exercise he discovered that the household was still asleep, he went round the back and found the old caretaker, who gave him a more comprehensive tour of the lake house complex. 

The caretaker, whose name was Paddy, claimed to have taken care of Varykino for twenty years. He had been here when ‘Miss Padmé’ had been but a toddler with grass in her braids. He had been present when she had married Anakin Skywalker on that balcony over there. 

As the sun rose higher above their heads, Paddy puts his hands on his hips and said, “Now aren’t you going to change into something nicer for breakfast with the family?”

Obi-Wan looked down at his plain clothes. “These are the things I came in. I had not expected to stay the night.”

“I was told Miss Ahsoka prepared something for you.”

Obi-Wan assured the well-meaning old man that he would be more comfortable in his own clothes, and he was until he arrived at the dining hall and saw the whole Skywalker family breakfasting in clothes nearly as fine as the ones they had worn for the party. 

“Good morning, Master Kenobi. You look - um - very well,” said Senator Amidala, whose dress shimmered as she moved. Skywalker watched him from the sides of his eyes, biting viciously into his sandwich.

Obi-Wan nodded. He has yet to be formally introduced to Senator Amidala and since she made no move to do so, Obi-Wan decided to push past the awkwardness and took the empty seat next to Ahsoka, which happened to be the furthest away from Skywalker. 

“So Master Kenobi, what shall we do today?” said Ahsoka. 

“I thought I’d have Master Kenobi today, actually,” said Senator Amidala. 

Skywalker leaned forward in his seat, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to show him around. Anyway, I’m sure Ahsoka would want him all to herself soon enough so I’d like to take my share of him first.” She ignored Skywalker’s spluttering and turned to Obi-Wan with a too-sweet smile. “What do you think about exploring the meadows with me today? Our Lake Country is famous for them.”

Opposite him, Skywalker sat steaming with his sharp fork in hand, all but gnashing his teeth. “If you try anything with her, there is nowhere you can hide that I won’t find you,” Skywalker said. The threat lost a bit of its intended viciousness because there was a bit of pear dangling at the end of Skywalker’s fork. 

Obi-Wan bit back his wry amusement and nodded. He jumped when Skywalker dropped his fork onto the plate with a loud clatter and demanded that he stop laughing at him and stormed out of the room.

With a loud scrape of her chair and an eye roll, Ahsoka pushed away from the table and went to chase after Skywalker, crying, “You were supposed to apologise to him for yesterday!”

“Your husband is…trying,” Obi-Wan said much later when they were taking their promised stroll towards Naboo’s famous meadows. “Has he always been like this?”

The sky was overcast but not so that the sun could not peek through the clouds. It made for a lovely picture across the surface of the lake, glints of gold revealed amidst the scudding white. 

“In a way, yes. Anakin’s blood had always run hot. But lately, his moods have been more violent. I’ve never seen him do what he did to you last night. It frightened me.” She cast her gaze far off. 

Obi-Wan could understand. Being frightened of what Skywalker could do was only one short step from being frightened of Skywalker himself. “Is that why you asked me to stay? Because I knocked him in the head?”

Senator Amidala smiled. “I’ve never seen Ani so gobsmacked. It was so funny. Ahsoka wished she could’ve seen it.”

She took his hand in hers. The skin of her fingertips was smooth, her nails neat and clean. Obi-Wan noted how rough his hand looked next to hers, browned by the sun, calloused by lightsaber training and manual labour. Her touch felt too intimate, and therefore awkward. But Senator Amidala wouldn’t let him take his hand away. 

“The Sina Kai claim you’re a seducer. You deflowered the daughter of the former leader and left instead of taking responsibility. And then you used your persuasive powers to buy your way into the heart of the Duchess of Mandalore. But the moment she was killed, you fled. According to the rumours, you are now in search of a new conquest to further advance your station.” She stared hard at him, but he did not know what she was looking for. She released him with a sigh. “If Satine had not been my friend and told me her business, I would have been inclined to believe those evil rumours. Why don’t you defend yourself?”

“You knew her?” The question escaped before Obi-Wan could stop himself, or control the desperate quality of his voice. He cleared his throat, straightened his back. 

Senator Amidala blinked at him. “You really don’t recognise me? We’ve met a few times. I’m usually in my ceremonial headgear but I even visited Satine once on Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan rifled through memories usually left untouched, scrambled through them like a clumsy animal until — 

“Padmé?” He had known the senator’s given name but he had not thought to connect Senator Amidala, wife of Anakin Skywalker, to the young woman who had been friends with Satine. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I forgot you but so much has happened since.”

He had not allowed himself to think of Satine for many years. Now that the invitation was given, his throat closed up. He’s forgotten the quality of her laugh. The way she said his name. He turned his face away from Padmé to wipe his eyes. 

“Yes, it has, hasn’t it?” Padmé smiled gently. “She told me she was going to marry you.”

“I…I’d planned to ask her to.” He would’ve have stayed on Mandalore for her. He’d had hope for happiness with her. Before the rebel had broken into her home and shot her. 

The story was plain and known to everyone now, but at the time, before the plot had been revealed, the Mandalorians had been chasing down Obi-Wan as their prime suspect for their duchess’s murder; the result of a love affair turned sour.

“I’m glad to have met you again, Master Kenobi. Even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.”

“Please. Call me something else. I’ve not been master of anything for the longest time.”

“What do the people of Osten call you?”

“Old Ben.”

Padmé made a face. “I’m not calling you Old Ben. I’ll call you Obi-Wan. It’s a nice name. You should use it more often.”

The vast grassy meadows of the Naboo Lake Country were as breathtaking as advertised. There in the backdrop of some truly majestic waterfalls, Obi-Wan found a few wild shaak and for a few moments, he was back on the grassy dunes of Osten, his little hut but a few minutes away, his solitude undisturbed for miles around.

Padmé stretched her arms high above her head and groaned. “If I were without a care in the world, I’d spend all my time up here lying in the grass.” She decided to do just that, leaving Obi-Wan to explore the expanse of green on his own. 

He petted some shaak when they came near and slowly made his way across the grassy plain, bending down to pluck some wildflowers and arranging them in his hands.

A soft bleat from the waterfalls made him detour. It was nearly indiscernible amidst the roar of the waterfalls but as a herder, Obi-Wan has trained his ears to catch the cries of shaak. Sure enough, he found one had slipped on the long, slippery grass off the bank into the water and was now floating away towards the river. 

Obi-Wan waded in and pulled the shaak to safety. It wasted no time in thanks, simply trundled off, shaking off water as it went, leaving Obi-Wan sopping wet and shivering in his only set of clothes.

As he climbed up the bank, he spotted a small area not too far from him where the grass was singed blank. It looked so incongruous in the field of fresh green that Obi-Wan bent down to investigate, frowned as the blades of grass crumbled between his finger and thumb.

There was a niggling sensation in the back of his head, usually indicative of the Force trying to tell him something. Obi-Wan swam across the narrow stream that fed the river and trekked up the steep slope that would take him to the cliffs of the waterfalls and afford him a better vantage point of the valley. 

Up there, his awe at the view was dampened by dismay as he counted eight, nine, ten similar areas of black, dying grass, like symptoms of an illness slowly visiting the otherwise lush valley. 

When he returned to her, Senator Amidala did not ask where he had gone, why he was wet, what he had seen. She simply asked for his hand as she stood and the sunlight caught her shimmering dress, the solemn turn of her lips, her sad eyes.

 

x

 

According to Padmé, the Room of the Morning Mists had a history. It was where a famous poet had penned the most scorching account of Naboo’s covered history. Padmé had her most serious meetings there because she knew the weight of the room’s history would sit heavy on any person born of Naboo. To Obi-Wan however, it looked like any other meeting room with a big round table he wanted to get rid off.

Padmé shot him an apprehensive look. “This table is 300 years’ old.”

“It's in the way. I like this room. Good windows, nice heavy curtains, but I need the floor. Unless you would like Ahsoka and I to sit on the table.”

“Could you not sit at the table and … chat instead?”

Obi-Wan arched a brow. “If I'm to instruct Ahsoka in meditation, I will need to do more than just chat.” 

She eventually relented and ordered her servants to move the storied table into another room. 

They had not talked about what Obi-Wan had seen. Not even in passing. But Obi-Wan could guess at her motives. 

It wasn't Ahsoka who needed a meditation lesson.

The dead spots of grass were the result of someone who had brought out his lightsaber in anger and based on the marks, he had been alone. Had what Obi-Wan seen been the extent of it? How many nights had Skywalker gone out secretly to vent the only way he knew how?

It made sense for Plo Koon to put Obi-Wan forward to counsel Skywalker. He knew Obi-Wan was disciplined and no-nonsense from his years with the Sina Kai. And Obi-Wan’s preference for isolation worked in his favour. Better that few people knew that the galaxy’s strongest Force user was unstable. 

But this was all conjecture. It could very well be that Obi-Wan was overthinking it and Ahsoka really needed more tutoring in meditative practices. 

Padmé came out of the room, frowning. “The table is too heavy. Do you think you could go find Anakin?”

“I'm sure between Ahsoka and myself, we can move it.”

“It's much easier if we just ask Anakin,” Padmé insisted. 

With a wry smile, Obi-Wan left, a little amused at the subterfuge. There was no need for it. Obi-Wan would not have refused a request from Plo Koon, whether it was to teach Ahsoka or Skywalker. Or perhaps none of this was for _his_ benefit. 

He found Skywalker in the workshop adjoining the lower landing. The workshop was large but it felt claustrophobic with barely any space for manoeuvring through the hills of droid parts accumulating against the walls. A column of mottled sunlight infiltrated through a skylight that needed dusting. There was a wide sturdy desk pushed up against the far end of the workshop but Skywalker was sitting on the ground with his back to the wall, elbow on a propped up knee as he fiddled with something in his hands. He dropped it when he saw Obi-Wan. 

“What do you want?”

“Padmé wants you to -” An irritable astromech ducked out from behind the table and threatened Obi-Wan’s thighs with an electrified prod. Obi-Wan sidestepped it with an obligatory “excuse me” but the astromech wouldn't let Obi-Wan through, screeching in droidspeak. “I'm just here to deliver a message. You can stand down.”

“Why would Padmé send you?” said Skywalker, scowling heavily. 

“Because I was available. She needs you to move a table so Ahsoka and I have space to train.”

“Can't you two train outside?”

“I'd rather not the risk of rain. Meditation requires intense concentration and as little external stimulation as possible.”

Skywalker snorted. “All that sitting still and ‘letting your mind reach for the Force’ never did anything for me.”

“Well, we can't all be as strong in the Force as you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You think I'm weaker somehow because I don't meditate?”

“It sounds like you don't meditate because you can’t.”

Skywalker rose to his feet, shoulders bunched and fingers twitching. “Where do you get off inviting yourself to my home and mouthing off to me like that? Aren't you Jedi Wanderers supposed to be worldly and wise?”

Obi-Wan knew Skywalker meant to intimidate him but stars help him, Obi-Wan was _interested_. 

“It's just a table, Skywalker. Settle down.” Obi-Wan stepped forward with a plan to bait him until he caught how Skywalker moved away from him, maintaining their distance. Obi-Wan hid his hands in his sleeves and backed away. 

What had he been thinking, trying to put moves on Skywalker?

He shifted his gaze away from Skywalker’s face to the space above his left shoulder. There was a spare droid arm hanging from the work shelf, some rust in its gold-plated fingertips.

“Get out,” said Skywalker coldly. 

“What?”

“I'll go but I want you out of my workshop. Now. Artoo, show him out.”

“Skywalker, there's no need for this.”

With a series of beeps and prods, the astromech forced an exasperated Obi-Wan out of Skywalker’s workshop and shut the door in his face. Obi-Wan took a breath, eager to have the last word. And then he realised he would only be saying it to a door. So he decided to get Ahsoka and move the table without Skywalker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that, frustratingly, is what I got so far. I'd been hoping to finish this for the Big Bang, but the story got larger than I initially intended. Let me know what you think! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh thanks for the encouraging feedback! It's been a strange busy week at work. I hope to update this fic weekly, even if just for a bit. 
> 
> Thanks Liz for beta-ing for me. Happy Belated Birthday <3

For the sixth time, Obi-Wan sighed and said, “Stop scratching your nose.” As it turned out, Ahsoka had not sat through meditation since she before she joined the Skywalker clan and like most younglings, she found it difficult to sit still for more than five minutes.

Ahsoka groaned, uncrossed her legs and laid out flat with her back against the floor. “Give me a break, we’ve been at this for an hour. How long is this lesson supposed to last?”

“Has it been an hour? My, time flies.” Obi-Wan tugged Ahsoka’s arm, urging her upright. “Come, breathe with me.”

“No, not the breathing exercises again. I’ll really fall asleep this time.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead. “I’ve never known a clan that does not train its members in meditation. I know your Master does not believe in it but meditating will help you understand your connection to the Force in ways that martial mastery and strength cannot.”

“I’m going to stop you right here. Anakin is not my Master.”

“But he is the only mentor in your clan,” said Obi-Wan, puzzled.

“We’re not exactly a clan.”

“…explain.”

The white markings on Ahsoka’s face contorted as she struggled with to find the proper words. “There’s not much to explain. There is no Skywalker clan. There’s just a Skywalker family. There’s Anakin, Padmé, and Luke and Leia. Anakin agreed to take me in because he knew his reputation would help stabilise my planet’s political situation. He’s gone to Shili a couple of times; impressed the elders with some precognition and farsight. But that’s it. I’m more his babysitter than his student.”

Admittedly, the conflict between the native Togruta and the immigrant Zabraks on Shili had mellowed in recent years but Obi-Wan had not realised it had been because of Ahsoka and Skywalker.

"So tell me how did you come by those?" said Obi-Wan with a pointed look at the two lightsabers clipped to Ahsoka's belt.

Ahsoka shrugged one shoulder. "If there is one thing Skyguy can teach it's the saber. When I told him I was interested in Jar-Kai, he introduced me to Master Fisto. He comes by every now and again to make sure my dual-wielding is up to snuff."

When someone required a favour of Kit Fisto, he usually went to see him. Not the other way around.

Obi-Wan huffed a quiet laugh. “I have no leg to stand on. I’m here to use Skywalker’s reputation as well.” Ahsoka grimaced, having heard of his situation from Plo Koon. “Apparently I've been away for so long that I did not realise Skywalker has essentially been crowned king of the Force clans. The respect everyone affords him is strange.”

“Not really. People respect strong Force-users everywhere.”

“Because they serve the people. They are arbitrators of peace. From the sounds of it, Skywalker goes nowhere and helps no one. He sits in his workshop and sulks.”

“He helped put a stop to the slave trade in the Outer Rim. Doesn't that count?” said Ahsoka in a quiet voice.

It had been one of the biggest news at the time. Anakin Skywalker, the youngest contestant to ever participate in the Bespin Cloud Games had also broken the galactic record by a long way. The most powerful Force-user anyone had ever seen and he was thirteen years old. And his first request to the senators who came to seek his favour was that they free his mother, and the rest of the slave community on Tatooine, on every planet they have access to.

“You're right. I'm sorry,” Obi-Wan acquiesced. “I'm afraid Skywalker brings out something in me that I don't like.”

“You mean you're attracted to him. Anakin said he could sense it the moment he saw you looking at him.”

“Can he? Well that's remarkable. I once knew someone who could see your past by touching you.”

Ahsoka smirked at him. “You’re not going to talk about the fact that you want to jump Skyguy’s bones?”

“What is there to talk about? He's a very handsome man and my eyes work perfectly.”

“I guess we all expected you to be a bit more - you know - mystical. You're the famous Obi-Wan Kenobi. You disappeared six years ago and all the rumours say you've either died or you've become a Jedi Wanderer like Master Yoda.”

“You're being kind. I know what they really say is that I've gone to chase another skirt in some far off system.”

“Well yeah, there was that too.” She snuck a glance at him. “So, were you?”

“The only thing I’ve been chasing are my shaak. Now breathe with me.”

“Jeez, alright. You’re so naggy.”

Obi-Wan fought a smile as Ahsoka closed her eyes and did as she was told. Irella used to complain about that part of him too. She would say that the other girls in the village didn’t want to play with her because her big brother Obi-Wan was always there to nag at them to be careful. She had been such a loud child, nothing like the woman he had seen yesterday. He wondered if it was time, Owen, or maybe even her husband that changed her.

When Ahsoka failed to focus again, Obi-Wan fetched a handful of wooden knickknacks he had found in the room next door, much to Ahsoka’s horror. “Oh no, no, those are Padmé’s family heirlooms. Do you know how precious those are?”

“No, I don’t. But you need something to help you focus.” He placed the small figurines around her in a circle. “I want you to think inward when you breathe in. Register every thought, every emotion that flits across your mind, and then release them. And on every exhale, I want you to reach out your senses as far as possible until you can touch all these little figurines.”

“Heirlooms passed down from over five generations ago.”

“Yes, those,” Obi-Wan confirmed.

To her credit, Ahsoka was really trying. Obi-Wan could feel her thoughts gentling whenever she inhaled, but on the exhale her energy fractured into so many wispy, ineffective fingers so that she only managed to tip over a quarter of the figurines. She heard the soft ‘clinks’ and opened her eyes in delight. “I did it!”

Obi-Wan offered a smile, loathe to discourage her. “That’s a good start.”

“Then show me what I’m supposed to be doing with them so I know what to aim for,” said Ahsoka, pumped up from her first success.

“It’s different for everyone,” said Obi-Wan.

With Plo Koon, the figurines would zip away from him, up the walls and congregate on the ceiling above his head. For Obi-Wan’s old mentor, Qui-Gon, the figurines would bounce around the room in arcs of varying heights. Obi-Wan had not seen anyone else’s patterns. Using objects as an aid for meditative focus was generally a practice with children. No serious Force-user liked to be caught doing it.

Ahsoka gave a loud, dramatic sigh. “I guess I’m just doomed to tipping over figurines until I figure out what’s right for me. Who knows how long that will take? Weeks, months maybe.”

Obi-Wan put a hand to his face. He did not have weeks and months. He huffed. “Fine. I’ll demonstrate, but you’re not meant to copy me, do you understand? Observe the flow of energy.”

Ahsoka held out a thumbs up. “Got it.”

With that, Obi-Wan took her place in the centre of the circle of figurines and sat down cross-legged with his hands on his knees, thumbs touching his pointer fingers. Upon exhale, his Force energy came up and out of him like a cresting wave, bowing to collect the intricately-carved figurines so that they rose to the air and danced around him in slow revolutions. He inhaled, retreating deep into his mind, walking along the channel he had opened from within him to the outside world, and then did an about-step on his next exhale, and walked back the way he came.

He meditated long and often on Osten. It did wonders for keeping his loneliness at bay.

Meditating indoors was different. The air felt closer despite the open windows. The walls were a nuisance. He was so used to sending his energy far that to be hindered by walls now made Obi-Wan feel as if he were trying to physically walk through them. So he brought the edges of his consciousness inward to make the floor more comfortable at least. Less unyielding. More like grass.

“Alright, your turn,” said Obi-Wan when he decided that he had demonstrated enough and found two pairs of awestruck eyes on him.

Anakin Skywalker stood at the door, fingers slack on the frame. His lips parted, on the cusp of a word.

“That was amazing!” Ahsoka declared. “You were hovering two feet off the ground and those carvings were swivelling around you - it was like watching a ballet!”

Obi-Wan picked up the nearest figurine to him; a sculpture of embracing lovers. None of the figurines mimicked one another. There was one of a man kneeling with his hands clasped, looking skyward, and another of a falling star. One of the same couple from before dancing together and another of a man playing a flute.

“Are these depicting The Affair of the Starlight Prince?” asked Obi-Wan.

“You know it? Padmé tried to get the both of us to go see it once but we hate opera,” said Ahsoka, tilting her head back towards Skywalker to get him to confirm her claims.

But Skywalker did not appear to have heard her, his unwavering glare fixed on Obi-Wan. “I want to give that a try.”

“Um,” said Obi-Wan.

“You made me come up here for an errand you already carried out so you will let me try.” Skywalker forced Obi-Wan out of the circle and sat down. “I’ll show you why meditation is useless for me.”

He sat cross-legged as Obi-Wan had done, but kept his eyes open and his back slouched with his elbows on his knees, and breathed in. The figurines trembled, as if they were shivering from the cold.

Ahsoka frowned in a moue of disappointment. That was hardly more impressive than her tipping them over.

The scent of smoke tickled Obi-Wan’s nose. He scratched it thoughtlessly until he sensed the building energy within Skywalker’s body and yelled, “Wait!”

Skywalker exhaled and Force pressure exploded out of him like the roar of a furious hurricane.

Ahsoka used her own Force powers to anchor herself to where she stood. Still the pressure sent her flying towards the open window and a five-storey drop onto the paved courtyard.

“Anakin!” she cried.

Obi-Wan ran for the window, grabbed the drape of a heavy curtain and leapt out after her. He closed his fingers over her wrist and threw her back into the room.

She landed on her back, skidded to a stop a few feet before Skywalker, whose entire posture had gone stiff as transparisteel. His fists quivered by his sides and his chest heaved as he surveyed the wreckage across the floor.

The figurines were destroyed, scattered in splinters indistinguishable from their less valuable brethren. The only distinction they could boast now was of being a splinter that was over five-generations’ old.

“I told you,” said Skywalker. “It’s useless.” He turned and fled, leaving Obi-Wan sitting dumfounded on the windowsill.

Ahsoka climbed to her knees, staring after Skywalker with a pinched look on her face. Slowly she scooped the splinters onto her tunic. “Padmé is going to kill us.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to Liz as always! 
> 
> And thanks to everyone who has read and left such encouraging comments!

Fortunately for Obi-Wan, Ahsoka and Skywalker, Padmé was too busy to be properly angry at them, not even affording them a proper glare as she skimmed through official-looking documents while seated on the edge of her marriage bed. Her handmaidens whizzed around her, packing clothes and other essentials in a frenetic pace. Three cumbersome-looking ceremonial accessories went into satin coverlets which went into cushioned suitcases that hovered out the door as soon as they were full.

            “I’ve got an urgent meeting in Theed. I’m leaving immediately, No, not that one, Dormé,” she said to her handmaiden. “Something a little sterner. I want them to know I’m not pleased.”

            The handmaiden put a long coral dress back into what appeared to be a dense jungle of a wardrobe and pulled out an outfit that was a forbidding shade of black with draping sleeves and cuffs lined with grey rancor fur.

            Obi-Wan tucked his smile into the corner of his lips, impressed and amused at the same time. Satine had told him once that half the game of politics was intimidating the other party into doing what you wanted. In person, Senator Padme Amidala was small, her head barely reaching Obi-Wan’s shoulders. On the Senate floor, however, she was a force to be reckoned with. She had proposed and helped passed many bills even before she gained the advantage of Skywalker’s influence.

            “Who’s dared make you angry?” said Skywalker.

            “The Chief Secretary of the Nautolan Labour Council. We’re due to present the new proposal for work visas in the Cerean Quadrant to the Senate next week and this morning, he says he isn’t sure whether ‘individual sentients’ include pregnant beings and sentients with more than one brain. We’ve discussed this just last week! It isn’t like the Chief Secretary to change his mind so quickly.” She dropped the documents into a waiting briefcase and snapped it shut.

This was the master bedroom. Paddy the caretaker had said as much. Naboo sensibilities infused every corner. They were in the fine velvet drapes of the four-poster bed and in the old oak mantelpiece on the opposite side of the room, under an ornate gilded frame holding what Obi-Wan suspected was a Gorof original.

            It was a fairly well-known piece - _The Master_ _’_ _s Knighting_ ; depicting a Cloud Games awards ceremony from the 12th century of the pre-Republic. It showed the old tournament skies of Jedha, the ancient home of Force-users before they had broken off into clans. In the painting, the heads of the Force clans had gathered to cross lightsabers with the winner of the Games.

            Every piece of Gorof’s paintings was known to have those signature stormy eyes. The same ones Skywalker had. Obi-Wan stopped himself from chasing over the canvas, looking for them.

            “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about my statuettes,” said Padmé. “My mother loves the Starlight Prince. I’m the one who has to explain to her what happened to those figurines the next time she comes over.”

            “We’re really sorry, Padmé,” said Ahsoka.

            Padmé levelled Ahsoka with a considering gaze. “Actually, could you come to the meeting with me? The Shilian Zabraks have a huge voice in the Labour Council and your thoughts would help.”

            “What about the twins?”

            “If you're coming with me, we’re bringing Luke and Leia.”

            In a drier voice, Ahsoka asked, “What about these two standing behind me?”

Obi-Wan exchanged looks with Skywalker without meaning to and quickly turned away. He felt like a child again at the end of Padmé’s pointed gaze, which he thought was undeserved.

            “We’ll be away two days at the most. I'm sure Anakin and Obi-Wan can behave themselves, can’t they?” Padmé said.

            Skywalker crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door frame, scowling with all the insouciance of an unrepentant toddler. “You better hurry back.”

            “So you can destroy more of her treasured belongings in her presence? Yes, excellent,” said Obi-Wan.

            “You were the ones who brought them out to use like playthings in the first place,” Skywalker shot back.

            “And they were fine in my hands until you came along.”

            “First you say I'm weak for not meditating and when I attempt it, you scold me. There's no winning with you!”

            “Padmé,” groaned Ahsoka.

            “Obi-Wan, did you forget why you are here?” said Padmé.

            Obi-Wan bit back his retort to Skywalker. That's right. He was supposed to be seen cultivating good relations with this child of a man.

            “And Anakin, remember why we invited Obi-Wan to stay.” Skywalker curled an arm around Padmé’s waist and murmured something too soft for anyone else to hear. Padmé kissed him. “Strange husband. You’ll be fine.”

            “But what if…” Skywalker trailed off, his gaze lowering to his own fingers, wound tight in the fabric of Padmé’s dress. A sour tang permeated the air around Skywalker, like the blue milk left too long in the sun.

Curious, Obi-Wan sent out little feelers in the Force and caught the end of Skywalker’s sentence.

            ‘But what if… _oh, never mind._ ’

            A tired sentiment, tinged with frustration so worn it barely registered.

Obi-Wan thought about saying something. But it wasn’t his place. This wasn’t something that should come from a stranger like him.

            He followed the family onto the courtyard where Padmé, Ahsoka, and the twins boarded the ship in the arms of Padmé’s handmaidens. Luke and Leia made a lot of noise, not wanting to leave their father behind. No amount of entreaty could quieten their sobs. Their distress shone like a white blaze across the top of Obi-Wan’s arms. And the face Skywalker made as his children called out to him, as tried valiantly even to say his name - well, that wasn’t fair, was it?

 

X

 

Much as Obi-Wan wanted to leave alone a man who so clearly disliked him, what happened to Padmé’s figurines filled him with unease. Obi-Wan had never seen anyone summon such a great well of Force energy with so little effort and so little control of its aftereffects. Most Force-users had no proper control of their abilities, choosing instead to let them run loose like millionaires showing off credit. But someone like Anakin Skywalker couldn’t afford to do that.

            If what happened in the Room of Morning Mists was Skywalker’s abilities contained, Obi-Wan would hate to see what Skywalker was like unfettered.

            He tried looking for Skywalker, but he was not yet familiar with all the hiding places on Varykino and did not come upon him until well into the evening when Skywalker was down by the lake on the jetty with the legs of his pants rolled up as he sat knee-deep in the water. His astromech droid kept him company a foot away, too wary of falling in. 

            There was a faraway look in Skywalker’s eyes, his brow furrowed as if he was listening intently to something. Obi-Wan felt loathe to break his privacy, especially since this was the first time he’d seen Skywalker be still. But hiding was not an option with Skywalker, not with those razor-sharp senses.

            “You _are_ different. At least that part about you was true,” said Skywalker in lieu of a polite greeting. “Most people would be afraid after they saw what I did this morning. You’re not.”

            “What do I have to be afraid of? You strangled me on our first meeting and I’m quite certain you like me less now than you did then. You haven’t laid a finger on me since.”

            “If this morning went differently, you could have had a face full of splinters.”

            “I wonder what I did to make you dislike me so much.” Obi-Wan took the empty space next to Skywalker, ignoring the way Skywalker flinched. The wood creaked under him as he pried off his boots and lowered his feet into the water. Fish came mouthing at his toes, surprising him so much he hoisted his feet away and brought up a spray of water onto his robe.

            Skywalker laughed, leaning back on his hands.

            “Finally a smile out of you,” Obi-Wan said as he took off his sopping outer robe. He would have to ask Paddy where the laundry room was. “I was beginning to fear you would wear that ugly frown for the entire time that I was here.”

            And there was that scowl again. “Why should I smile for you?”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you should.” Skywalker turned away from him, choosing instead to entertain his trilling astromech. At least the droid wasn’t trying to attack Obi-Wan any longer. For a while, Obi-Wan observed them, noticed the affection with which Anakin petted the astromech’s domed head. “Why are you so close with this droid?”

            “His name is R2-D2.”

            Obi-Wan affected the same tone he used on his shaak. “Hello, Artoo. What have you done for Skywalker here that he likes you so much?”

            R2-D2 replied in a series of beeps and whistles which made the edge of Skywalker’s lips jump up despite his best efforts. “We fly together. I won the Bespin Cloud Games with him. After that, I tried buying him off Padmé but she wasn’t interested in selling him.”

            There was a story there. The story of how Skywalker had met and fallen in love with his wife. If he wanted to, Obi-Wan could tease it out of him, discover what this beautiful man found attractive. Then he realised this was his foolish side out at play again and scolded himself. He didn’t understand what it was about Skywalker. He wanted this man to like him. He quashed it down with a resolute clearing of his throat.

            “It sounds like you are quite fond of flying with Artoo.”

            “I love it.”

            “So why haven’t I seen you up in the stratosphere?”

            Skywalker’s long fingers twitched but he said nothing. He didn’t have to.

            How little control did Skywalker have over his abilities that he did not even trust himself to fly?

            “Oh don’t be so smug!” snapped Skywalker. “Just because you think you know everything. You don’t! I don’t need the likes of you to feel sorry for me.”

            Obi-Wan recovered quickly from his shock at the outburst. He had the feeling that this was something he had to get accustomed to around Skywalker. “Contrary to what you think, I don’t know everything. For example, I don’t know if you want me here. You’ve been nothing but hostile to me since I arrived, but not once have you told me to leave.”

            Skywalker fixed him with a hot stare, as if he could glare him into submission. No doubt that has worked for him in the past. The scar on his right brow made him look quite menacing in addition to the impressive glower he could muster with those eyes stolen from Gorof.

            Obi-Wan returned the stare evenly, picking at a thread on his tunic which had come loose. Eventually, Skywalker looked away with a bitten off command for Obi-Wan to mend his clothes; for stars’ sake, he looked like a pauper. “No wonder no one wanted to talk to you at the party. They all thought you were a homeless person who had stumbled in.”

            Obi-Wan sighed. “Listen, I want to help.”

            But Skywalker was not looking at him any longer, his gaze stolen away across the surface of the lake, now reflecting the twinkling stars in the fast-darkening sky. Like everything else about him, Skywalker’s shift of mood was sudden, difficult to explain.

            “What are you most afraid of?” Skywalker asked.

            The question came so unexpectedly, naked of any preamble that at first Obi-Wan thought it was rhetorical. That Skywalker would soon pontificate like old Master Yoda who had once sat Obi-Wan down in an uncomfortable swamp and lectured him for three hours about the darkness that resided in the smallest of fears. And as Obi-Wan waited for his lecture, Skywalker waited for his answer.

            He could lie.

            He had a whole list of fears to choose from. Losing his shaak in the middle of a thunderstorm. Tornados. The Idolian fever and children who chased after him with snot on their fingers.

            Skywalker assumed that air of stillness again. It felt impenetrable despite the violent vortex of energy Obi-Wan knew was stirring within the other man. If he put on his hand on Skywalker’s chest, skin to skin and just under the collarbone there, Obi-Wan was certain he could feel its movement.

            Obi-Wan hugged one knee to his chest, his other foot sinking once again into the water, less averse to the tickling attentions of the fish this time. “Why do you want to know?”

            “I’m afraid that the rest of my life will be like this.”

            Obi-Wan glanced at Skywalker from the corner of his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me -”

            “Everyone speaks as if having a strong connection with the Force is the best thing that you can have but you and I know better, don’t we? On some nights, I cannot even sleep because I hear the stars screaming. I can hear them all the time. I can feel the tremors of the earth beneath my feet, the vibrations of life being born, the gaping silent when life is ended. When it’s quiet, I feel all of them at once. And when it’s noisy, it’s like I don’t have enough senses in my body to understand what is going on, but I do. I feel it all so much.”

            His voice caught. He shied away from R2-D2’s concerned beeps. “I’ve tried everything. Katas. Drugs. Drinking. I’ve tried going out and screaming and swimming until I’m so tired that my mind switches off. But why is it like this? What can I do to stop it? I’m so afraid that one day I’ll go mad, and no one will notice.”

            Obi-Wan did not know what to say after something like that. He struggled through a list of polite platitudes, each one more useless and patronising than the last. He tried to hide his hands in the sleeves of his robe, only to remember that he had shrugged it off earlier. He settled with picking at the loose thread on his tunic. His clothes were riddled with them. Skywalker was right. He needed better clothes.

            Skywalker hung his head, shoulders slumped. “Why did I bother?” He pulled his legs out of the water and turned to leave.

            “I’m sorry, I did not mean - ,” said Obi-Wan. “Look at me, Skywalker.”

            Skywalker halted, back to Obi-Wan.

            Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “You just poured out your heart to me, I’m sure you can handle looking me in the eye.”

            “I don’t feel like looking at a half-dressed old man.” There was more that Skywalker was going to say. Obi-Wan could hear it in his tone. But Obi-Wan decided that it may be best not to push him.

            “Let me help. Padmé invited me to stay because she believed that I could help. I’ll come to your room later and -”

            “No, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            “I don’t see why this should wait for tomorrow.”

            “I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Skywalker tersely.

            Obi-Wan frowned. “Why? I don’t take lightly what you just told me. To be able to sense the Force is a blessing, but the stars should not be screaming.” There were no crickets at Varykino. If there were, they would be out by now and Obi-Wan would be able to hear them. At last, he relented and redirected his gaze to the water, his elbows to his knees. This was not Osten and Skywalker was not one of his shaak. He couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to. “Goodnight, Skywalker. I’ll see you tomorrow.”


End file.
